\\ Cover Story \\

Location: West Yellowstone, Montana

I snapped this late ‘50s Ford F-Series truck on my iPhone last September during my fortieth birthday trip to Yellowstone National Park. Something about it felt compelling — but haunting — as though this faded pickup and derelict cabin were the last vestiges of an era of the West I will never know.

Beware of Flying Ants

If you’re near water that remains fishable for trout throughout the summer, you may have found yourself stymied by an inscrutable hatch that for the life of you, you can’t seem to match. It’s maddening; trout rising in gleeful splashy takes yet avoiding even your most convincing trichoptera imitations. If you experience this, try tying on an ant pattern.

Now, let’s be clear. I am not referring to a black size eight Chubby Chernobyl or anything that even approaches the look and presentation of a hopper. The ant you want is small — size 16-18 — and should have distinct bulbous ends like a small dumbbell. Something like this:

You see, every summer, the Queen ant signals her male companions that it’s time to expand their species’ territory by flying the coop and setting up shop in a new location. Together they all sprout wings and swarm off, mating as they go. The males die shortly after mating and fall to earth, or, if the trout are lucky, river.

This “hatch” is impossible to predict; even entomologists don’t know what triggers a swarm, especially because the changes in rainfall, humidity and barometric pressure preferred by the colony can be hyper-local. The fleeting and unpredictable nature might explain why trout seem to zero in on ants when they are present, sometimes moving a great distance to snatch one.

Take my word for it; if you’re on a trout stream between Independence Day and Labor Day, beware of flying ants.

The Wild World of Dapping

I recently fell down a rabbit hole while researching the strains of Irish brown trout and found myself charmed by this video depicting an Irish fishing technique known as dapping.

Instead of a traditional cast, the dapping angler uses the wind to lift the line and deliver the fly. Very long rods — twelve feet and longer — help keep the line elevated off the surface of the water such that just the fly makes contact.

There is a version of dapping that exists in America, likely a relative of this style adapted from its original use on windy lochs to small streams and rivers. Here, the fly is lowered to the surface using the rod tip; again the line should not make contact with the water.

From what I can find, Don Miller seems to be (have been?) the expert on American-style dapping, with a 2014 book entitled Dapping. A Fly Fishing Technique: My Secret Method of Catching Large Dominant Trout.

Here’s an excerpt from the book description:

“His 40 years of learning how to catch that rare and elusive large, dominant, heavy-weight trout, [sic] that the ones very few fly fishermen ever catch, has been a never-ending pursuit– one that has caused him to endure many sleepless nights pondering: “If I was a large trout needing large meals to sustain life and energy, plus being cautious and wary, where would I reside?” Once I discovered the answers to that question, I concluded that dapping was the only method that would work. If you apply all the techniques and methods described in this book over time, you too will succeed.”

Color me intrigued.

#senditwithstyle

This photo of devout fly angler John Denver knee deep in a run wearing a pink plaid shirt and matching pink teashades is the epitome of not taking it too seriously. Or that ‘Rocky Mountain High’ is more than just a hit song title.

A Fly in the Ointment

On summer evenings, the air above a river should be alive with small wings flickering in the slant light, mayflies lifting like ash, caddis skipping in erratic arcs. There should be a hum, the buzz of the river giving birth to a whole generation of insect life.

But lately, that hum feels muted. The sky over the water seems thinner, the hatches sparser, the night settling in without its usual chorus. It’s a quiet you can’t quite name until you remember what’s missing.

A May 2023 study led by Notre Dame biologist Jason Rohr concluded that insects are on the decline nationwide, confirming the warnings we’ve heard from anglers and amateur entomologists for decades. But as with most things, the study revealed that the change in biomass and biodiversity was far more nuanced than just simple decline.

According to Rohr, there has been a shift in the makeup of America’s streams and rivers in favor of more disruption-tolerant species. Less tolerant species have disappeared, allowing the more change-resistant insects to proliferate. The result is a growing homogeneity of insect life.

The study looked closely at differences between rivers and streams draining forested and grassland regions, and those coursing through urban and agricultural lands. The findings showed that the existing differences between those stream communities has only gotten wider suggesting that over the past thirty years, water running through urban and agricultural lands have gotten less biodiverse and populated with ‘weedy’ taxa capable of surviving in harsher environments.

In June of 2023, Tom Rosenbauer hosted stream ecologist Mike Miller on the Orvis Fly Fishing Podcast. During their nearly hour-long discussion, Miller articulated the effects of popular pesticide – neonicotinoids, or neonics – on aquatic ecosystems. Miller’s research focused on waterways in Minnesota and revealed that not only is the dangerous neurotoxin being widely used, but that the effects of its use might just be materializing.

Neonics, explained Miller, are synthetic compounds similar to nicotine, and are highly toxic to insects. They operate by binding permanently to neural receptors in insects, overstimulating the insect’s nervous system, leading to uncontrolled nerve signals. This overstimulation causes paralysis, followed by death.

Chemical companies have now started coating seeds in an attempt to introduce the toxin even earlier in the process. According to a 2021 study, “abrasion of the seed coating generates insecticide‐laden planter dust that disperses through the landscape during corn planting and has resulted in many “bee‐kill” incidents in North America and Europe.”

It seems a sad truth that neonics and widespread insect decline are connected. What’s worse, we’ve been here before. Rachel Carson saw it coming in 1962, when Silent Spring warned that our chemical ingenuity could just as easily unmake the natural world as improve it. Back then, it was DDT and the robins that vanished from suburban lawns. Today, it’s a quieter crisis, happening in the water, measured not in the silence of birds but in the absence of hatches and the sameness of the insects that remain.

For anglers, the change is as much felt as seen: fewer mayflies lifting from the surface, fewer caddis dancing in the evening light, and the creeping sense that a river without its full chorus of insects is a river diminished. Carson called it a “silent spring.” If we’re not careful, we may find ourselves wading into a silent current.

~Tunes~

Of Mice and Men

Somewhere in the darkness, at a distance too warped by the quietness of nighttime and the wide open river and the cool air thickening into a fog, a toilet flushes.

It isn’t of course.

You know this.

But that’s what your ears hear.

There is only one other thing that makes that same sucking, gurgling sploosh and in the blackness, your mind completes the shape: the length and girth of the wild Delaware brown trout, a ghost that's just eaten like a king.

It could be 10:30PM or it could be 1AM. Out here, time loosens its grip. Drifting mid-current under a sky veiled in fog, you are neither early nor late. You are nowhere—and also precisely where you want to be: suspended in the hush, casting toward banks you can’t see but know by feel.

You fling the mouse out into the dark. The emissary of your camp’s shared delusion. It returns in a rat-a-tat of strips, small and sharp and frantic, a telegraph from the twitching edge of prey.

S.O.S.

The message, even in its caricatured translation of frenzied frantic fleeing, flirts with our wide-eyed imaginations of what lurks below.

Floating through the no-thingness, deprived of our eyes, we feel everything.

Grand.

Alive.

On the edge of something.

On the edge of ourselves.

Tuned into the shimmer of each vibration skipping up fried dendrites, half-dead from screens and sugar and comfort and the anesthesia of always-knowing and too much, too often.

And the mouse says: tap, tap, tap.

Don’t eat me.

Don’t.

Eat.

SPLOOSH.

MONOFILAMENT FM

“Trout Sermons: Night Run”

Entry ID: CX107  
Classification: [Parallel Dimension Memory Loop]  
Format: Intercepted Signal, Short Wave  
Origin: Unknown

Notes: Hiss-heavy. Likely recorded during solar flare. 

Warning: DO NOT REVERSE.

Our servers intercepted a transmission from an unidentified, untraceable source.

Despite repeated analysis, the origin remains unresolved.

Current hypothesis: one of several fragments from a collection of orations known as “Trout Sermons,” believed to have leaked through a time-space rift from a parallel dimension.

Playback is authorized. Proceed with caution.

On the Banks of the Lonely River

On the banks of the Lonely River,
the song of the world plays.
Not in words, but in vibration.
Not in noise, but in breath.

The great organ of life exhales through itself in tones immutable, delicate,
unseen. It sings in days,
in wind,
in the hush of water on water.

I am here.
In that I have always been here.
In that I was never here.
In that I am lost like you and found again in shards of sunlight slicing through fingers of trees.

I am a stranger, thick with summer, rootless.
Ancient wanderlust beads between my shoulder blades and runs
to rejoin the sea.
I am excised from the womb of my beginning,
naked before the night.

The Lonely River runs deep into the earth.
Through the lashing of pagan tongues.
Through sacrifice and scripture and the rituals of becoming.
Through itself, to become itself.
It has no form, no destination.
No origin.
No urge.
It is the medium.

I am here in that I have come here.
Itinerant.
In search of redemption,
apotheosis,
forgiveness.
Permission to be
broken.

Definition strains at the edges of perception.
My mind is rabid with stars but forms no constellation.
I come rejoicing.
I come penitent.
Painted in the lost umber of the wild.
A child of progress.
A violator.
Smog-swilled,
skin-bound,
worthless flesh.

I come to prostrate before the enormity of nature.

Others have come here in search of themselves.
Their trails meander through grass and vanish into pools.
I trace them gravely, hoping to glimpse them
still clutching the gray frock of morning,
backs bent with quest,
conquering restless hearts
in the squinting quietude.

But they are not here.
As I am not here.
Eidolons of the myth.
Blackened matchsticks burned in psalm.

Between us, the sacred stones lie
breathless.
Flesh firm in torment.
Vermiculated by time and painted by cosmic brush.
Devouring.
Defiant.
Undulating like unfixed appendages, beating with the singular heart of the river.
I watch them sing their silent ululations,
mourning the solemn honor of their propagation
sheltered in their temple
of abundance.

Anatomy of a Nymph Rig

Nymphing is a way of life for many of us. The recommendations below are purely based on my experience and preferences which have largely been informed by Northeastern trout streams. Some aspects may be applicable to your fishery, and others may have to be altered/evolved for fishing elsewhere. - JWS

Basic Nymph Rig Setup

Typically, I select a heavy leader for nymphing. Something like a 3X leader works well. The stiffness of the 3X butt helps turn the rig over, and I have found that anything less than 3X diameter allows the indicator to slip (I like Airlocks in WHITE) down the leader when casting etc. I have tried both mono and flouro on nymph rigs and I haven't really decided which works better. This is something I go back and forth on. But if pressed, I would go for flouro. More on that below.

On a standard 9-foot 3X leader, I typically snip off about 2 feet of the terminal end. This gives me a short, punchy leader that typically turns over well. To help make the transition from the heavy leader to tippet, I like a 30lb Partridge barrel swivel. I have tried tippet rings, and those work fine, but I prefer a swivel because it allows the rig to spin freely in the current and while casting. You'd be surprised how many tangles result from the rig twisting up on itself and creating coils in your leader.

From the barrel swivel I typically run a length of flouro -- typically around 24 inches. I use the heaviest flouro I think I can get away with. This is also why a swivel is nice (or tippet ring); it makes dropping to smaller and smaller tippets super easy and you don't have to fret about bloodknotting a 3x leader to 5 or 6X tippet.

Most often I will use about two feet of 4X off the swivel to start. If the water is cloudy or off-color I will size up to 3X, especially if I am throwing larger flies like stoneflies and streamers (more on that below). If I am using smaller flies, I start with 4X.

At the end of the 4X, I attach my point fly. Much ado is made about what constitutes a point fly; for me, it's the heaviest fly in my rig, regardless of position. Essentially, I think of it as the fly that is the point B to my indicator. I typically select a heavy point fly. That said, I don't like jig heads or heavy bead heads for my point fly. I've heard a lot about how trout (especially wild trout) can spit beadhead nymphs easier than ones without. Therefore, I like a heavily weighted stonefly (lead-free wire wraps on the body). Most often, that fly is a Pats Rubber Legs, AKA a Girdle Bug.

From there, I tie on the next step down tippet (if I am on 4X I use 5X, if on 3X, 4X, etc.) to the point fly. Depending on the depth of the run, casting room and fly selection, that tippet ranges from about 12" to 24".

One of my most used tandem rigs is a Pats and a small wetfly or soft hackle behind it. If the water is off color or up from rain, I will run a pats and a small streamer or a worm. If that fails to produce, I mix and match flies until I start getting strikes, progressively getting smaller each time until I am in the zone.

On Flourocarbon

Somewhere along the line, I started paying attention to the overall buoyancy of my rig. I now have a good sense of how much additional weight I need to apply to the rig to get it down at the depth I want at the rate that I need. Some fly combos have more action -- think: vibrating rubber legs and undulating maribou -- which tends to equate to more drag in the water making them sink slower. Others plunge fast to depth but ride fixed and relatively lifeless beneath the indicator.

Now, I have started to observe that monofilament leaders, especially those heavier sizes that turn a nymph rig over well, are quite buoyant. Mono floats and I have come to believe that it is impacting the sink rate of any of my favorite rigs by 1 or 2 seconds. It's also important to know that I carry a lot of split shot with me. Of various sizes.

So, in order to keep computations on the river to a minimum, I decided that a flourocarbon leader, which sinks naturally, would offer something close to neutral buoyancy to my rig. From there, I can tweak my weight to match my flies and not worry.

There is a catch or two. First, flouro is goddamned expensive. Second, you gotta really maintain your line throughout the drift.

The Drift

One of the most important pieces of the puzzle is a good drift. It's taken me a while to learn that every piece of energy I put into the line during the drift exerts an action on the flies which I can neither predict nor observe. So I have found that managing my line through the drift is critical to keeping the flies where I want them.

For starters, I cast upstream and across, attempting to place my flies at a distance upstream of the premium lie such that they arrive in depth where I believe the fish to be holding at the precise moment that it is optimal for the trout to eat them. This is, and perhaps obviously, an imperfect science.

But, with this in mind, I make every attempt to use my line to manipulate the flies only when necessary. The remainder of the time, I try to keep as much line off the water as possible, and if unavoidable, try and make sure it's not affecting the drift or impeding my ability to make a quick and accurate hook set.

This is where the flouro leader comes in. Since the flouro leader will sink, it can sometimes create a sunken spot between your indicator and your fly line which can, depending on the length of leader submerged, interrupt your hook set. It's for this reason that I often keep my leader section pretty short. Now, if you use mono, you won't have this problem. But you will have to sink the leader along with the flies, which can leave you riding too far above the strike zone.

Of equal import is managing slack line and keeping your rod in a positive striking position through the course of the drift. Slack line will cost you time between your hook set and the moment the hook sets in the fish's mouth. It also makes the first few seconds of the fight a crap shoot where the fish can gain the upper hand easily. For this reason, I keep stripping line in as the drift nears me, keeping the least amount of line between my rod tip and the indicator as possible. It's best if when I make my cast, there is no excess line off the reel. This reduces the amount of line to manage during the drift and will help you get back on the reel faster if you find yourself toe-to-toe with a bruiser.

Doing all of this well won't matter if you can't make a hook set. My mantra is to keep my rod parallel to the water with the tip of the rod no more than a foot or so above it. When you set, you'll make contact with the flies faster and you'll already be ready to put pressure on the fish (which is essential to landing big fish and fish in fast moving water).

I often hook set too hard and rip my whole rig out of the run. It's laughable. But I do try and think small on hook sets. The 9 to 10 feet of rod closes the distance fast and putting too much power into the hook set can break you off on contact, especially if you're searching for a predatory or instinctual eat where the fish often takes and turns.

Lastly, I always hook set downstream. I don't have a shred of evidence to prove this is more effective. But it is. And when a downstream isn't possible, striking straight up will be just as effective.

~TUNES~

Headin’ West

I think I’ll head west.

Shed suburbia like old skin and chase the sun.

There’s an old cabin out there that needs a fresh coat of paint and a few shingles, and shooing away the skunks that wintered under the porch. The old timer will cock his hat and crack a smile and hand me the keys and leave a cloud of blue smoke behind when he speeds off for Alaska.

A fair trade. One we both need.

Sure, there’d be an adjustment period.

It’d take a season or two to time spring runoff and tame the tigers of fear.

But soon enough my boots would have a spot by the door and the rod would sit on wooden pegs all summer and at night I’d tie shiny black beetles and grey drakes and salmonflies and plop them in my whisky to see how they float and laugh at the thought of getting the cutthroat drunk too.

I’d have a stool at the diner.

Sheila would fill a thick ceramic plate with fried eggs and toast and the bacon just the way I like it and slide it over the counter as I climbed on it and the coffee would be hot and black and bitter. We’d trade town scuttlebutt and I’d leave her a cash tip and take a coffee to go and maybe a sugar donut and tumble out of town before the breakfast crowd and the tourists show up.

Down the cool dirt road to the river damp with dew and half hidden by grasses heavy with summer and swaying to a light breeze and Nat King Cole as he croons through time and the cracked door panels of the truck.

No need for waders or a pack.

Just a little Perrin fly box and spool of tippet in one breast pocket of a heavy flannel shirt and a cheap pair of nail clippers from the counter display at the hardware store.

Barefoot and pants rolled up to my knees I’d find a patch of sand with my toes.

I’d tie on something fresh from the night before.

Bounce it off the bank.

Bingo, I’d almost say out loud.

Ease her from the gut of the run and slide her headfirst into my hand hidden in the clear cold water.

Fly’s out and she zooms back to hide in the undercut and for a moment it smells like fall and where did summer go?

Back home by noon to water the garden and split a few more barrowfuls of wood.

Sappy and sweet. Honeybees buzz around me and I am careful not to crush them as I stack.

And later, even from behind my desk and deep into another draft I can hear them droning on about how long winter is up here in the mountains.

IN A MOOD

A One-Scene Play

False Bottom

A bar. Dimly lit, but not cozy. A few guys are playing pool in the back, the clack of balls shattering across the table mixes with the buzz of a neon beer sign hanging over the bar which is worn and losing its varnish in places. Neil Young’s “Cortez the Killer” starts playing from unseen speakers.

Outside a summer storm howls around the poorly hung door. ANGLER sits in a small booth off to one side, his coat on, drumming his fingertips on the table, not impatiently, but like something is building inside of him. He checks the time on his phone and slides it onto the table facedown.

The door swings open, a blast of cold air.

BIG WADER walks in, brushing rain from his shoulders. He spots ANGLER and smiles, all teeth. He strides into the bar, slowly, self-assured. The walk of a man who runs conversations like this for a living. He reaches the booth and shakes ANGLER’s hand – a little too hard – and drops into the booth opposite him. The faux leather seat wheezes under his weight. A waitress sees him enter and comes by the booth, ready to take their order.

ANGLER
(Politely, but with a kind of brittle finality.)
Two pints, please. Whatever your local seasonal is. Thanks.

BIG WADER
(Feigning concern but showing a touch of bother for having had to come out in bad weather.)
So what’s up? Your texts seemed a little curt. Something on your mind?

ANGLER
(Beat. Avoids eye contact at first.)
Look. I’m going to cut to the chase, here.
(He exhales, leans forward slightly, eyes sharpening.)
We’re unhappy with the way things have been going.
(Beat. He shifts in his seat, testing the tension.)
We appreciate everything you’ve done for us, but—

BIG WADER
(Leaning back, spreading his arms wide like a man who’s never had to take bad news seriously.)
Buddy. Let’s not be hasty, here.
(Chuckles, shaking his head as if this is just a misunderstanding.)
I know we had a rough Q4, but things will rebound in the spring. You’ll see. Besides, we’re such a good team.
(Leans in, toothy again.)
Remember that big buck brown in September? You remember. It’s the best performing post on your Instagram feed. Course you remember.
(Waves the waitress over without looking at her.)
Miss? Yes, hi. Can we change that drink order? Let’s do two single malts. The…
(Scans the bar’s top shelf like he’s shopping at Whole Foods.)
Lochrannach Sixteen. Neat. Water back. Oh and scratch the beers. Put it on this card, please. Yeah, thank you so much.

ANGLER
(Dryly. Not reaching for the performance.)
I’m not really into—

BIG WADER
(Overriding, chipper, with salesman gloss.)
Oh you’re gonna love this whisky. The peat is local to their distillery land and they still practice floor malting. They age it in casks on this island in the Hebrides for two decades. They say you can taste the salt of the sea. It’s like $50 an ounce but totally worth it. Costly, not expensive, you know?
(Leaning in now, more intimate.)
Anyway, let’s talk about what’s bothering you.

ANGLER
(Sits back, folds his hands once before unfolding them. Quiet.)
Can I be honest with you?

BIG WADER
(Smiling big. Full confidence. A man with no contingency plan.)
Of course you can! We’ve been together for forty-plus years. That makes us simpatico. You can tell me anything. What’s on your mind?

(The waitress delivers the single malts. ANGLER nods, smiles in thanks.)

ANGLER
(Leaning forward again, voice flat but not hostile.)
OK. Look. The bottom line is that we’re just not getting the bang for the buck that we used to, and with the price of everything going up, we feel like we have to get serious about where we’re investing our money.
(Shrugs slightly. Honest but firm.)
Let’s face it, the factory guarantee isn’t worth the thousand-dollar price tag, especially when you consider your fidelity rating…

BIG WADER
(Sits upright, tone clipped.)
Fidelity rating? This is the first I’m hearing of it.

ANGLER
(Nods. Calm, but a trace of bite under the surface.)
I’m not surprised. It’s a metric we’ve been tracking internally for about a decade now.
(He leans back now. Letting it land.)
The last few years have seen a steep downturn in reliability. I’ve got several reports on my desk right now of failures within the first week of ownership.
(Beat.)
Overall, your ratings are down, and our people are starting to look for alternatives. Surely you’ve heard about wet wading…

BIG WADER
(Chokes out a laugh. Disbelief.)
Wet wading?! Hah! You had me worried there for a second.
(Slaps the table gently, still laughing.)
What a joker! I should have expected it from you. You really had me.
(Suddenly pushes a glass across the table with a little flourish.)
Wow. Here, try this scotch. Prepare for your mind to be blown.

(Beat.)

(Pauses, watches ANGLER.)

(Voice drops slightly.)

You’re… serious? You can’t be serious. Wet wading?!
(Sits forward, more agitated.)
You know how cold that water is in winter. Hell, even the tailwaters in July are ice cold. I’ve seen you put foot warmers on in September.
(Points with his glass.)
Besides, you’re what, forty-five now? Wet wading is a young man’s game, and even then, those kids are all jumping back in with us when the mercury drops.
(Sits back again, gesturing to the scotch.)
Whaddaya think of that scotch? Smooth, right?

ANGLER
(Takes a sip of the scotch.)
Forty one.
(Nods once, then lowers the glass back to the table.)
It’s nice, thanks.
(Sits a little straighter.)
You know, I feel obliged to let you know that we’ve entered into talks with Hip Boots as well.

BIG WADER
(Recoils slightly. Then scoffs.)
Now I know you’re kidding. Hip Boots! A total has been. They haven’t had steady clients since the ‘90s.
(Snorts.)
Talk about out of touch. You gonna start fishing in jeans and a an old button-up again too?
(Leans in again, aggressive optimism.)
Gimme a break! Besides, we have some really cool things coming down the pike this year that I am sure you’re gonna like. We’ve got a brand new coating that’s going to revolutionize breathability and waterproofness. And we’re offering waterproof pouches with welded zippers again. Built in, sized to any smartphone. No more additional purchase just to keep your valuables safe.
(Speeds up, excited.)
And did I mention the new flexion knee design with ergonomic memory foam pads? Grip and grins for days with this new tech. All for a small uptick in pricing; those tariffs are really doing a number on us.

ANGLER
(Shrugs. Steady.)
I’m sure the new features are great.
(Beat.)
But that’s not really what we’re looking for any more.
(Hands open now, explaining more than accusing.)
We just want dependability. Most of us can barely justify the expense of fly fishing as it is, and spending more than a thousand dollars on something that might last you a season — two if you’re lucky — just ain’t cuttin’ it anymore.
(Slight pause. Lowers voice.)
And then there’s the other issue. You know the one I mean.

BIG WADER
(Interrupting. Fake casual.)
Ooo, I like this latest pic of you. Why didn’t you tag us? I am going to repost.
(Doesn’t look up from his phone.)
There.
(Suddenly perky.)
Did you see our blog post about teaming up with Winton & Blagg?

ANGLER
(Sits back, tight jaw. Controlled.)
They’re called forever chemicals for a reason.
(Quietly now, like saying it out loud matters more than being heard.)
And the board has gotten uneasy about the whole thing. We turned a blind eye to overseas production. We tolerated the all but nonexistent customer service.
(Beat.)
But PFAS are a tough one for us to get over. To be honest, we feel duped.
(Sharpening.)
Some of the guys are talking about greenwash—

BIG WADER
(Holds up a hand. Cuts him off.)
We don’t use the G-word. Or the P-word for that matter.
(Sighs like he’s explaining to a child.)
Look. We’re a large company. The fact of the matter is that whenever you try to do things at scale you have to make some concessions. We’re not perfect, but we’re always trying to get better.
(Suddenly chirpy again.)
Let’s talk about something positive; isn’t your big fall fishing trip coming up? We always have a good time on that one.
(Smiles.)
It’s all about the hang, amiright?

ANGLER
(Calling softly to the waitress.)
Miss? Hi, can we get the check?

BIG WADER
(Startled. Trying to reel it back.)
Woah, woah, slow your roll, hombre. We’re just getting started.
(Forced smile.)
Besides, I put it on the company card. Let’s get another round. I just have to tell you about our new Guide Series.
(Sits up straighter.)
Ripstop GORE-Tex. In urban camo. Optional front zip is just another $239.99.
(Muttering now, speeds up.)
Zipfer nrm covd hmmd wrrntee…

ANGLER
(Frowning slightly.)
Sorry, you mumbled that last bit. Zipper isn’t what?

BIG WADER
(Laughs too hard.)
And they come with a clip for your forceps so you can go super stealth!
(Puts both hands flat on the table, grinning.)
We’re calling them — wait for it — TROUTFORCE GX. Pretty cool, huh?

ANGLER
(Quiet. Final.)
Listen, I have to run back to the office. We’re standing up a new maintenance and repair department.
(Looks him square in the eye.)
I’m sorry it had to come to this, but things are changing. There just isn’t a compelling enough reason for us to reinvest with you this year.
(Beat.)
If things change on your end, feel free to reach out.
(Turns to the waitress, handing her cash.)
Here you go, miss. And keep the change.

BIG WADER
(Sits in stunned silence. Then calls out, voice rising.)
You can’t be serious.
(Beat.)
You’re serious.
(Leans back, trying to reassert control.)
Well, your call, chief. But don’t come crying to me in December when you’re freezing your ass off.
(Shrugs. Bitterness creeping in.)
You’ll be back!
(Softer now, almost to himself.)
They always come back. You’ll see.

A gust of wind punches the door inward as ANGLER exits. The pool players in the back don’t look up.

BIG WADER drains his scotch in one long pull. He pulls out his phone, thumbs something. Maybe a text, maybe a tweet, maybe a spreadsheet promising rebound and market share.

He laughs once; sharp, joyless. Half threat, half prayer.

From behind the bar, the bartender eyes him. Says nothing. Wipes down a spot that doesn’t need wiping. The neon buzz intensifies. One of the bulbs flickers, dies.

A truck engine outside sputters, turns over. Headlights sweep through the window and cast long, distorted shadows of antlers mounted on the wall. BIG WADER leans back. Alone now. The booth across from him empty. Still warm.

Fade to black.

Time Capsule

Some Like ‘Em Wet

Vogues of fly fishing come and go. Used to be that a swung wet fly was a sure way to break a slump. Sadly, most people don’t even know how to fish a wet fly today, and classic patterns like the ones pictured below are fading into oblivion.

Challenge: Go into your local fly shop and see if they have any of these patterns, or any wet flies for sale at all. I’d be surprised if they did.

Challenge #2: Go tie some up and fish ‘em. You might be surprised at what you find. Need a primer? Start here.

The Agony of Success

In his first book, Fly-Fishing the High Country, John Gierach wrote that the best anglers “try not to make the same mistakes over and over again; instead, they strive to make new and interesting mistakes and to remember what they learned from them."

As anglers, failure takes many shapes. It can be small, like a bad knot that fails when you need it most. It can be technical, like a sloppy cast that spooks your quarry.

Failure can plague a much anticipated trip and make all your planning seem pointless. It can drive you mad when they start rising and not a single fly in your box will solicit a strike.

Failure is the refusal, the ‘good fish’ that comes unbuttoned at the net.

Failure is the one that got away.

Fishing is a purposeful act. We go to catch fish. We can dress it up however we want — beautiful places, friendship, time for reflection — but even the most enlightened among us know that all the beauty in the world can’t match the experience of being tied into a fish. Fishing without catching is just casting, and you can do that in your backyard. Yet I don’t know of another pastime where the odds of success are so stacked against the practitioner.

Growing as an angler means wading through failure and keeping your head up. I call this the Agony of Success, the bitter teeth-cutting process of learning the hard way over and over again until that day where all those lessons fuse and you get it right.

Failure isn’t a four letter word. It’s the catalyst. We’d do well to remember that.

~TUNES~

It’s the middle of summer, in middle of nowhere. I’ve got a buzz in the brain. Too much screen time, not enough sun.

Rivers in the Northeast are low and warm and I feel far away from the ritual of suiting up and heading out in search of something. So, I did what I do when I feel cooped up. I made something: Welcome to DROP\SHOT, your new weekly mainline into the Hookswain mainframe.

If you’re new around these parts, grab a toilet seat and stay a while. To my veteran eyeballs, welcome back to the melee.

So here’s the skinny:

Things are weird out there. The feed is full of noise, the algo is fornicating with AI slop in terrifying ways, and enshittification feels more like the norm than the exception. Even fly fishing isn’t safe from the deluge of drivel.

But that’s exactly why we’re here. To cut through it. To find signal in the static. And that’s my aim for DROP\SHOT. Unlike our other verticals, it’s casual, designed to be thumbed through in the edges of you day when you need a little mental protein.

Part notebook, part experimental depth charge.

Less polish, more pulp.

A test signal for half-formed thoughts, half-finished projects, and half-baked rebellions.

Welcome to the noise beneath the noise.

Mad Like You Are

Be careful when inviting guides to fish with you on their day off. They will out-fish you.

Good hearted, thoughtful ones, like Max Hogg, will take long breaks in between landing fish the size of which you only dream of catching. They might let you in on their secret setup, or even, in a bout of generosity of spirit, hand you a few flies and tell you right where to cast. But make no mistake. A guide is first and foremost a fisher, mad like you are, back-bent with the same primordial urge that short-circuits your underdeveloped brain, and will, if you let him, show you precisely why he gets paid to do what he does.

If this should happen to you, don’t feel sorry for yourself. Don’t let a butt-hurt ego muddy your mind. Stay in the game and watch him, study what he does. If it helps, remind yourself that he spends the lion’s share of his life in waders and has made a living helping hacks like you catch fish.

And when he sets the hook into the second twenty-plus-inch brown trout of the day, try to savor that part of you that splits with the sudden recognition that he’s earned something you haven’t yet.

Smile when you net it for him. After all, you invited him.

Long-time readers might remember Max from this June ‘24 installment of Wind Knots:

║ ASK YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT ROD BUILDING ║

Do you start new projects compulsively and 
never finish them?  Find yourself neck-deep
in yet another quagmire of anxious overcommitment?

Well, struggle no more.

From the makers of Fly Tying comes Rod Building™, 
a new experimental breakthrough drug to help. 

Our crack team of amateur neuroscientists and 
armchair diagnosticians has found that for the 
same cost as buying a brand new fly rod, you too 
can invest countless hours into making one that’s not
nearly as nice and may not even be totally functional!

Tell me more, you say?

While Rod Building™ has been used by countless
generations as a cure-all for even the most vexing
of life’s troubles, our new patented formula takes
effect faster and lasts longer.  

Is work crushing your will to live?  

➡️ Build a rod!

Is your love life a smoldering dumpster fire?  

➡️ BUILD A ROD!

Is a mid-life crisis smashing through your existence like
an industrial-strength wrecking ball?  

➡️ B U I L D  A  R O D!

How will it fish? 🤷 No one knows!

And the best part is, unlike the scads of other
projects you already have in progress, there isn’t
a single person out there you can hire to help you
finish it.  

That’s right — once you start building a rod, 
only you can finish it. Finally, a project that will 
outlast your motivation, your attention span,
and maybe even your marriage.

Rod Building™ — Finally, a hobby that hates you back.

-----

But wait, there’s more!

For a limited time, you can get our patented 
Creator Syndrome™, absolutely free!

Join millions of other outdoor enthusiasts who
completely ruin their enjoyment of the Great Outdoors 
with Creator Syndrome™ — that unmistakeable, 
soul-crushing impulse to document and share everything
you do on social media.

Because why practice a hobby in the privacy of your
own home when you can broadcast your personality flaws
and lack of ability to the whole world with 
Creator Syndrome™?

Creator Syndrome™ — Self-loathing never felt so good.

──────────────

*** Ask your doctor if Rod Building™ and Creator Syndrome™
are right for you. ***

⚠️ Warning: Rod Building™ is not responsible for marital
strain, missing receipts from proof-of-purchase, or 
spontaneous weeping in the epoxy aisle at Ace Hardware.

If you experience symptoms lasting longer than 18 months,
consult a fellow Rod Builder.

💊 Side effects of Rod Building™ may include:

- tendonitis
- existential clarity
- muscle aches
- decreased or blurred vision
- newfound distrust of factory tolerances

#senditwithstyle

A chic, classic Costner reminding us that hip boots over jeans deserves a serious comeback. This is angler sprezzatura at its finest, right down to the faded green canoe.

LOST & FOUND: First Tarpon on the Fly

Isla Holbox, Mexico - March 2023

A few years ago, I spent a day chasing tarpon with legendary saltwater guide Alejandro Vega Cruz — better known as Sandflea. His energy is relentless. His knowledge of the flats, generational.

I had hoped to capture the experience with my iPhone, but you can’t cast and film. So I did what I could: I hit pulled up the Voice Memos app, hit record, and let it roll.

The audio files from that day were lost in the Bermuda Triangle of the cloud for more than a year before inexplicably reappearing after a recent iPhone update. I excitedly waded through hours of audio, reliving the fits and starts that is saltwater fly fishing.

The resulting audio clip lands us on Sandflea’s panga just as he spots a school of juvenile tarpon along a mangrove thicket. You can hear it all happen, unvarnished and real; the breathless urgency, the casting chaos, the gentle-but-firm corrections. I’m sure I drove him crazy with how many shots I bungled, but in the end we came tight. It all made for a humbling crash course and an unforgettable day.

I encourage you to give the whole clip a listen; you might learn something too. If nothing else, it’s a sobering reminder to go practice your casting.

Hat tip to Hookswain subscriber Andrew P. for the tip about fishing in Holbox, and connecting me with Sandflea.

DOWNWARD DOG-EARS

Bend the spine. Fold the corner. Stretch your brain.

~ T U N E S ~